My dog just peed in my cornflakes
by Sparky16
Summary: Full of live stories and hilarious comedy, watch the gang from YGO go through life. (ch 4) Tristan's head is thick but it's empty inside. (based on a real life experience)
1. Default Chapter

How high's the water, Gramps?  
  


  
Disclaimer: All standard discalimers apply.  
  
AN: Okay, I'm sorry, this one HAD to come out sooner or later. This is a true story told be someone to me, the charaters are just chanced for protection. I don't own the story, nor do I own yugioh. :S oh ONE MORE THING, to make this work, I had to have yugi's grampa and bakura's mom be friends for the purpose of telling the story, sorry I tried to have Yami tell the story but it just won't work.  


  
  


Bakura's Mom's POV  
I don't think it would be unreasonable to say that my son is strong willed. After all, that's just a polite way of saying stubborn as a mule. Even his ability to guard his options as though he'd been given his supreme knowledge by a divine being speaking to him from a flaming shrub, I don't think he could come close to the test of wills my friend's grandson, Yugi, attempted a while ago.  
  
Had he been successful, it would have been a really neat trick. No one had tried it since Canute, England's Danish King, failed nearly a thousand years ago.  
He tried to turn back the tide.  
It didn't work.  
Mr. Moto and I have often commiserated over the trial and tribulations of being parents of teenagers. More often than not, he's the one listening to me express amazement at the creative stubbornness shown by my son. On this one occasion, it was my turn to be the listener.  
  
Like me, Mr Moto has recently gone through the stresses of having a teenager learn to drive. He's been there before, so he knew what to expect. During the time when my son, Bakura, was getting his license, Mr Moto often smiled knowingly when I described the terrors I was experiencing. Still, I don't think anything could have prepared him for the events that unfolded with his grandson behind the wheel.  
  
Mr. Moto owns, well okay, to use the accurate tense, he a nearly new four wheel drive sport utility truck. Everyone knows four wheel drive can take you anywhere, any time and make you completely impervious to the hazards that might befall someone in a lesser vehicle.  
  
Neither rain, nor mud, nor sleet, nor snow can disturb a boy in a four-by-four. Apparently Mr Moto's grandson was convinced of that fact when he decided to take a drive along the beach.  
  
There wasn't rain. There wasn't mud. There wasn't sleet. There wasn't snow. There was, however, soft, wet beach sand in an area below the high-water line. Amazingly. soft, wet beach sand can indeed stop a four-by-four in its track. In fact, it's quite possible for one to get nicely stuck.  
  
And that's exactly what happened to Mr. Moto's grandson.  
The ocean has this habit every twelve hours or so. It's called high tide. the tide was out when the boy went for his drive. It was out when he got stuck. It was out when they finally managed to get the truck towed from it's spot on the beach. Unfortunately, between the time from when the truck got stuck and the tow truck pulled it free, high tide came, washed over the vehicle, and receded again.  
  
When Mr Moto arrived on the scene, the damage had been done. The Pacific Ocean had risen. All he could see was the roof and a bit of the windshield. The rest of his nearly new four wheel drive sport utility truck was impersonating a waterlogged submarine.  
  
To his credit, Yugi had had the good sense to call a tow truck. unfortunately there was a locked gate between the road and the beach. These events occurred on Good Friday. There was no one available to unlock the gate until it was to late. Mr Moto never explained how Yugi managed to avoid the problem of the locked gate in getting to the beach in the first place, but I guess, being a teenager, he knew more than the tow truck driver.  
  
It's totaled, Mr Moto said with a note of parental resignation in his voice. The salt water got into everything.  
  
Like King Canute before him, all Yugi could do was watch the tide ignore his will and make a run to the high-water line. Legend tells that old Canute was trying to demonstrate that even a king couldn't stop the rising tide, but I'm sure, deep down, he was pretty ticked off at the disobedient sea. Still, whatever the king thought, I'm certain it couldn't compare with the emotions Yugi felt as the tide slowly slipped over the hood of his grandfather's nearly new four wheel drive sport utility truck.  
  
I'd be willing to bet that the whole story of King Canute has been altered over the passage of time. Maybe he was a teenager when he tried to command the tide to stay out. Perhaps he had gotten his father's nearly new four wheel wagon stuck in the soft, wet beach sand. I wonder if he got grounded for life, too.  
  
It kinda puts leaving the gas tank on empty', into perspective doesn't it?  
AN: Okay, if you guys liked that one, please say so in your review because I have loads more where that came from! Each told by someone different, with a different victim, infact, go ahead people, choose the next victim for the embarassing story!


	2. Flying babies!

Flying Babies  
  


OKAY! you people asked for him so here it is! Seto Kiba (knows she spelled it wrong) for your entertainment! Once again, I don't own the story or the charaters. I just change the people so you could see how hilarious someone eles's life is! to find out what book this is go to my profile.  
  
Seto Kiba's POV  
  
Flying Tokyo's West Coast to Japan is no big deal for the average traveler. For those of us who live under the curse of the evil goddess of airline flight attendants, however, flying is a difficult and unpleasant task.  
  
Some people might think it's silly that I believe I'm living under a curse designed to make all air travel disagreeable. I have undeniable proof, though. A Boeing 767 aircraft holds more than 200 passengers in relative comfort, but somehow I always get the seat beside the baby from the Poopy Lagoon.  
  
If there are 205 passengers, 204 will be adults. Passenger 205, however, will be under the age of two, hyperactive and largely ignored by passenger 204, who carried him or her onto the aircraft. Passenger 203, aka me, will be expected to sit quietly while the child entertains him or herself.  
  
Oh, the fun a baby can have sitting for five hours on an airplane. There are so many things to do, exciting things to see and strangers to annoy. Mommy will sit right there, blissfully watching the in-flight movie, occasionally napping and completely oblivious to the aroma wafting from the child's butt. I, on the the other hand, can't concentrate on the movie, thanks to the dear, sweet, cuddly, little cherub beside me who keeps ripping the headphones off my ears. Those wires make such great playthings.  
  
Two hours into the trip the flight attendants start serving the in-flight meal. Airline meals have never been known for their palatability but, unless you've traveled next to the baby from the Poopy Lagoon, you can't begin to understand how unappetizing an overcooked sausage can look. The child's diaper must be an industrial strength model because, based on the smell, it now holds about half the child's body weight. Mommy, of course, still hasn't noticed because she enjoying the movie and the child seems to be having such a great time entertaining the man at the end of the row.  
  
If the mother notices the child at all, she's probably thinking how wonderful it is to have a child that travels so well. Isn't it cute how Mommy's Snooky-Wooky is expressing his artistic talents by finger painting the man's jacket? she's saying to herself. He's so creative. How many other children would think to use that man's scrambled eggs as an art medium?  
  
Looking back on the days when my own brother was that age, I remember how impressionable he was. According to child psychologists, it's a time when children quickly learn new concepts, physical abilities and words.  
  
One a recent flight, when once again I was sitting beside a bundle of joy, I had the opportunity to test this theory out. The child's mother was ignoring a prime opportunity to teach her child new words, so I thought it might make the time go faster if I helped the little dickens with his language development.  
  
Smiling at the mother, who couldn't hear a word I was saying because of her headphones, I whispered to the infant, Santa bring drum set.  
  
The child gave me one of those cherubic grins that might have been cute if his face hadn't been covered in my breakfast and he didn't smell like the baby form the Poopy Lagoon.  
  
Saba ding dumset, he announced.  
After a few tries, the child was merrily repeating a fairly understandable version of Santa bring drum set. The mother just smiled. I figured she was happy to have the egg covered man entertaining her little darling. I quickly learned not to encourage the child to clap his hands when he spoke. I was afraid it might distract the mother's concentration form the movie, and it seemed to increase the intensity of the baby's diaper aroma.  
  
Buoyed by my first success, I continued educating the child. Mommy's packing extra pounds, I said.  
  
Mommy estra powds, he parroted, obviously getting into the spirit of the game.  
  
When we had mastered the commentary on Mommy's weight control problem, we moved on. By the end of the flight, the child had a vastly improved vocabulary.  
  
The mother was in an obvious hurry to make a connection with another flight, so she was one of the first to deplane. Despite all the hustle and bustle, I could hear the child shouting, Mommy's not a natural blond!  
  
I wonder where he heard a thing like that.  
  
AN: Okay peeps, review and tell me our next victim, I have one in mind for our good friend Joey! : ) and yes, one of my friends actually DID pull off this stunt I'm writting Joey in. (I still laugh thinking about it!)  
Review  
|  
|  
V  



	3. ZAP

Only a Blonde!  


Joey's P.O.V  
One time when I was at an amusement park they had one of those Test of Will' machines where you put your hands on two separate metal plates and electricity courses through you until you can't stand it anymore, I'm sure you know the ones.   
  
Well, me and Yug were eating some take-out from a Fresh Choice', and I had a couple of forks on hand. So I go and rub some olive oil from a salad on my chest, then take the forks and clamp them right on my nipples.   
  
Now, I'm not sure if the machine was malfunctioning or what-not, but when I touched the metal forks to the electrodes, then my buddy dropped two bits into the machine, I swear my mammaries lit up like the airport runway at the end of Heat'. I'm screaming, and my buddy Yug is on the floor laughing, nearly about to wet himself, and the amusement park guys are trying to stop the whole thing _without_ touching me. I swear, my nips swelled up and went bacon-crackled, looking just like popcorn on my boobs. I'm never going to want to do that one again.   
  
AN, sorry this one was short but the laugh was worth it, wasn't it? Okay peeps! next victim please!!!!!!!!!  
Review and tell me!  
|  
|  
V  



	4. Tristan's Thick Head!

Tristan's thick Skull!  


  
  
Tristan's/Honda's P.O.V (call him what you will)  
  
There was this one time when I was trying to blow up a basketball with my own mouth. Joey kicked the ball square into my face trying to make my head pump up like a Christmas Day float, but I was already having a dickens of a time trying to get air into that little hole, so not much came out then.   
  
But it's not like that kick in the face helped my head much, seeing as how my ears had already popped and my head was swirling, seeing stars, and the veins in my head had all popped. My forehead was purple like a Smurf in space.   
  
I'm not sure if I was in my right mind then, but my heart was all pumping and my body felt totally pins-and-needles in that way that it feels like lightning is running through your limbs, you know?   
  
Like when you're a kid and you sit on your arms until you can pretend that you're the Emperor in Jedi?   
  
Right, so I thought that I had suddenly inherited mastery over electricity, and I decided to prove it by running headlong into a TV on the basement shelf where we were blowing up that ball. I thought maybe the TV would allow me in because I felt all Poltergeist-like, but I guess it just wasn't plugged in or something, because it just stopped me cold and knocked me out with a concussion.   
  
Actually, I'm not sure when the concussion came, because after I hit the cement floor those shelves broke (because of the impact and all), and all that junk like TVs and camp stoves and paint cans came raining down on me. And boy, I tell you, any one of those alone can leave a welt, but together they can nearly kill a man! Sure did hurt, I tell you.   
  
Yet another one of those little no-no's I'm never going to do again!   
  
Author's note: oh lord, yah, thanks there Ken for your..um.. stupidity and me kicking the ball. O.o no we were not in our right mind that day. okay peeps, pick your next victim!  
  
Review (tell me)  
|  
|  
V


End file.
